Commitment
by Thyme In Her Eyes
Summary: Harleen Quinzel's romantic musings, as she's committed to Arkham for the very first time. [Harley x Joker]


Commitment

by Thyme In Her Eyes

_Author's Note:_ Another delve into the _Batman_ fandom! A short, simple piece centring on one of my favourite characters, Harley Quinn, this takes place during Harley's flashback of her time working at Arkham in _Batman: Harley Quinn_, exploring her feelings after she's caught helping the Joker escape, had her medical licence revoked, and is committed. I picture her as being very much Harley now, as opposed to Harleen. Oh yeah, and obviously I don't own any of the characters. :P Happy reading!

-- COMMITMENT --

Uh oh. Game's up. Time to face the music, Harl.

I admit it; I went a little bit overboard towards the end. When they discovered me, tried to stop me, and all I could think about were those huge doors closing on him, trapping him in here, I lost control. I went nuts. I fought back. The things we do for love, eh? I screamed at them that I wouldn't let them, wouldn't let them hurt him. Poor dopes; they didn't know how to react. I think one of them decided to club me in the end. Knocked me clean out. Don't they know that's no way to treat a lady, even one trying her best to punch your lights out?

I wonder where my Puddin' is. Did he get away? Is he alright?

I'm sitting down in restraints, facing Doctor Arkham at his desk, and he looks worried and disappointed. He's frowning and frowning away. Not a happy bunny. Oy.

First things first – he informs me that I failed in helping the Joker escape. So _he's_ still here, with me. Maybe he could tell I'd been caught, and came back for me! Oh, he shouldn't have! How far away is he from me right now? Can I feel it?

I'm not paying attention, and Dr. Arkham just noticed. He tells me that they've managed to conduct a few blood tests on me while I was out, found out there weren't any kinds of drugs in my system, nothing oogie that would've made me irresponsible for my actions, or highly suggestible. Nothing like that. So, he's asking me, was I coerced somehow? Was I forced into helping him? It's not like it hasn't happened to a doctor here before. So, he asks, can I explain myself?

I tell him right off the bat: No, I wasn't forced. I was happy to do it. I reassure him that I wasn't careless enough to let myself get drugged, and I'd never be weak enough to be coerced. I hate being pushed around. Before he can ask me more, I lean back in my chair and smile and let him know that it was just a favour, a romantic gesture.

He looks stunned. Reminds me of how my old professor Hale looked when I waltzed into his office, paper in hand, and gave him my most mischievous smile and my bedroom eyes.

I decide to explain the situation fully, since he looks so confused. I explain carefully, so there's no room for misunderstandings.

I tell him I'm in love. It's reciprocated, of course. Joker loves me, and needs me. I tell him we've been having an affair; a very happy one. I ask if I'll be able to see him soon.

Of course, Dr. Arkham starts spluttering for a sec, and then composes himself and asks me to go on. I do, and it's just _great_ to get this all off my chest at last, to not have to keep it all a secret anymore.

I give an exasperated laugh and tell him I know it all sounds a bit crazy – I tell him that if I'd told myself a few years ago that I'd be doing this _I'd_ have thought it was crazy too. But love changes everything. It turns you upside down, inside out. It remakes your world. What might have seemed crazy a few years back actually makes a lot of sense if you look closely, if you analyse, examine and interpret the right way. It only sounds crazy to Dr. Arkham cause he ain't seen Mistah J's true colours like I have. And besides, who said that love has to make sense all the time? People always do crazy things 'cause of love, but it's always the _right_ thing.

I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't get the joke. He doesn't understand unconditional love. You can tell when a guy's never been in love – he's still thinking with his head, not his heart. Poor fella.

I tell him that I had to do this, had to help my Puddin' out. I try to explain to him the obvious therapeutic value of a little time on the outside, a change of scenery. I get so caught up in my feelings, I smile broadly and I tell him, isn't it great that my patient and I have such a natural rapport? Isn't it exciting to know that we have such an understanding? I mean, he understands my methods! He sees what I'm trying to do here, and he's responding! He likes the way I work, he loves my methods. He appreciates them! That's progress, isn't it?

Dr. Arkham doesn't look like he shares my enthusiasm, though. Ah, can't win 'em all.

I try to explain, seeing as he didn't get the joke, that letting Mistah J out was a form of therapy because it made him laugh. And we've all heard of the healing power of laughter right? He still looks at me all gloomy like. I can't understand how a guy so clever can be so slow. I got it right away when Mistah J explained it to me, I instantly understood it. Ain't it beautiful how we think alike?

The Doc's icy silence does nothing to me. I'm immune. I've endured much icier silences in my time. I'm a pro, he's an amateur. And to think he believes he's analysing me!

I venture a little further anyway, dig a 'lil deeper. I can tell by his face that he's just not getting it, that he can't see the forest for all the trees. I don't like to give up some confidential observations, but he's the man in charge, so I figure I gotta. I tell him that my Puddin's never been nurtured properly, that he's been victimised and neglected all his life, that he's never been shown any affection. No-one understands how bad he's had it all his life. I'm the only one. I feel a sob catch in my throat already, thinking of Mistah J alone and hurting. I tell Dr. Arkham that my Joker's experiences have left him so insecure, so terrified of being alone, that he _needs_ me to prove how much I love him. He needs proof, needs me to do something to show him how strongly I feel, needs me to let my actions tell him that I'll love him forever. He needs evidence like how willing I am to put myself on the line for him, by breaking him out, lodging him at my place sometimes, smuggling him weapons… Something really _meaningful_ like that. Nothing says _I love you_ like a get-out-out-jail-free card. People need the strangest assurances sometimes. My poor Puddin'…

But I tell Dr. Arkham there's no need to go crazy about a thing like that – I mean, it's not like I'm under his thumb or anything. Every idea he had, I agreed with, and if I didn't get it right away, I got it in the end, after he explained it sos I'd understand. But it's not like I was under his control; that's not what love's about.

He presses me for more. I open up then, spill my guts to Doctor Arkham, and tell him everything, the full history, every little detail of my romance. We were made for each other, my Puddin' and I. I understand him, I know him. I'll never do my man wrong, I'll love him 'till I'm dead.

I tell Doctor Arkham that things just had to develop the way they did. I was very professional, I told him…I just couldn't stop things from getting personal. I tried to get Mistah J to open up to me by doing trust-building exercises – I'd tell him something about me if he'd tell me something about him. Only fair, see?

He pauses, and asks me coolly if I understand the repercussions, the consequences of what I've done.

I nod vigorously. I'm quick to reassure him that I know all about the rules about crossing the line between doctor and patient. But there's no reason why I should lose my job over a little thing like this. I've been real careful, see. Affairs between doctors and patients are a hot topic, I know. I tell him I know that a doctor really shouldn't get too personal with a patient, that it's an abuse of power, so what I did was give Puddin' a 'lil control too, so we could be equal. I didn't want to totally break the rules, see? That's what I tell him. I tell him I gave a little control to show my love, to not take advantage. Everything I do makes sense, see? How can you think I'm not in control, that I'm irrational? It's nearly a joke!

He looks exhausted, bewildered, and angry in a quiet way, like he wants to bash his head against a brick wall. Someone seriously needs a holiday, methinks.

Anyway, the conversation after that point takes a _very_ nasty turn. We've barely been talking, and already he says he's surmised that I'm delusional, obsessed. A danger to myself and others. I can't see anything wrong with me – I analyse and analyse, but I know I'm reasonable, rational. Love just opened my eyes, that's all. Made me see the truth. He ain't seeing it that way, though. I lose my job, my doctor's licence is revoked, and get committed right then and there. Solitary wing, too. Yeesh. This isn't gonna be fun. Consigning me to confinement, all because he's never been in love before. Sounds like a bit much, doesn't it?

You'd think I'd be a little more upset about all, wouldn't you? Easy come, easy go is what I say. All I care about is keeping my man happy. Who cares about some silly job and a stupid career anymore? When you reach a certain point in life, you get shown that some things are more important than that.

I won't be able to see Mistah J in our sessions anymore, but that's a price you have to pay. It doesn't matter – I bet the minute he finds out I've been cooped up in here, in a cell like the ones he hates so much, he'll be here to bust me out and whisk me away, sweeping me off my feet. Free me in body, as well as in mind. I'll be outta here in no time. He loves me, he'll come for me, and then…and then everything's gonna be _perfect_.

The Doc's saying he hopes that with some intensive therapy I can overcome yadda yadda yadda. What a bore. Doesn't he know that Mistah J's worth it? He's worth all the pain in the world. So what if he's a psychotic killer? A girl learns to overlook these things.

I'm out of Dr. Arkham's office now; the guards are taking me down the halls to my cell and I don't struggle or fight – it was a pretty boring interview anyway. All doom and gloom. Nothing splashy or colourful going on. I'm glad to be gone. And it was difficult to concentrate when all I had in my head were thoughts about my angel, knowing that he was still here, knowing that he's close, wondering if he's okay…is he worrying about me, does he miss me? Thoughts of him run in crazy circles round my heart.

I'm gonna live my life _right_ from now on. Career? Family? Friends? It doesn't matter anymore, I can see that so clearly now. I can't even remember what my dreams and ambitions were before I met my Puddin'. They don't feel real.

I pass cells, cells with patients in them. Some know me, some don't. Some I've even had the odd session with. I pass colleagues, people who were friendly but not exactly friends. I pass a would-be-mentor and one or two of my fellow interns. They stare and stare at me, like I'm diseased and being sent into quarantine. I know they're looking hard, they can't believe what they've heard, can't understand how it could be true. They wonder how it happened, like my face could tell them. I flash them my Number One smile.

Harleen Quinzel? No, Harleen's pretty much left the building by now. The real me is all that's left: Harley Quinn.

Sorry Harleen, but I'm leaving you tonight. I found someone new, someone better. Someone perfect. He's waiting for me, over the edge. I've fallen behind my life, fallen in with him, so I know I'll always be there for him, right by his side. He made me sacrifice everything I had to be with him forever. The ultimate romantic gesture. Maybe they'll make a movie about us one day.

I'm committed now; I'm committed to our relationship. I'm binding myself. I got a one-track mind now. It's official; on paper and everything. I'll stick with you to the end, Puddin'. It'll never end between you and me. Commitment means a pledge, a sacrifice, giving up a few creature comforts for love, reaching compromises. I can do that. I know it'll be worth it in the end. I know he loves me. I'm willing to do anything to make this relationship really work. Just show me a smile. Just let me stay.

I want to dance a little, laugh a little. Live up to my namesake, and be the spirit of fun and frivolity. He made me real. I'm about to be locked away, but I know that he set me free. He saved me; he showed me freedom cause he loves me. I'm free and committed.

As they escort me down the cold, dark halls, I start to giggle. Soft, merry giggles – delighted, upbeat. Mistah J always said I was made for laughter. So I laugh for him, and I glow. The whole world glows. My giggles glow for him. They dance and bounce on the air, jump and skip down the halls, they summersault through the ventilation shafts.

I hope he hears them, and smiles.

-- FIN --


End file.
